


Spoonful of Sugar

by ValkyrieStorm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Molly Weasley Bashing, Pining, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValkyrieStorm/pseuds/ValkyrieStorm
Summary: The war is over, and rebuilding Hogwarts is a heavy burden. Severus Snape lies immobile in the Hospital Wing, tended to by the unlikely partnership of Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini. Father figure to Blaise and secret love of Hermione's, Severus Snape wakes up to a strange new world. Hermione muddles through her NEWT classes without the rest of the Golden Trio, finds an ally in house-elf Neefa, and an unexpected apprenticeship.Beta read thanks to Tanguera!





	1. Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rather long chapter compared to the initial three. I have tried not lose momentum yet prevent a rushed feeling, please let me know if I did or didn't succeed. Reviews are very much appreciated!

The din was excruciating. The lights were blinding. He wanted to bellow at them to shut up, but the searing pain in his throat pulsed in time with his breathing. 

Suddenly, it all ceased. The voices muted and the lights dimmed. A singular voice murmured a spell to lubricate his eyelids open and Severus Snape found himself gazing at the haggard face of Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire. She smiled hesitantly at him. He blinked and furrowed his eyebrows.

“Hello Professor. Voldemort is dead. Harry is alive. Your throat was severely damaged by Nagini, and you have extensive internal organ damage from the venom. The final battle ended a little over two months ago. You are healing and safe.” He blinked again and hooked a finger over her hand in thanks before falling back into a potion-induced fog.

The next time he awoke, it was to the agony of a potion gap. Some idiot had mistimed his medication. The lack of drugs allowed him enough clarity to force an irritated thought with Legilimency into Hannah Abbott’s mind. The two mediwitches, Abbott and Pomfrey, had been bustling from bed to bed just short of jogging. Snape wondered how many patients were from the school or runoff from St. Mungo’s. Abbott gasped as she registered his thought and her face warred between a smile and anxiety over the amount of pain she had just experienced.

“Professor Snape! I’m so sorry.” She deftly dosed out a pain killer. “Now, we are starting to wean you off of certain potions, to prevent dependency. Well, that and all potion stores are running low. There’s just more demand than supply, and St. Mungo’s has priority with all the suppliers. Not to fret, your best students have been brewing constantly since November.” Snape winced at the potential damage his laboratory sustained before the feuding houses settled to work. “I must go, but I’m sure your usual visitors will arrive soon.” Visitors? Who in blazes would visit a Death Eater? Why wasn’t he in Azkaban? But Abbott had scurried off before he could muster the effort to push thoughts at her. Merlin, he was tired. 

Snape started from his light doze at the sound of two murmuring voices. He slit his eyes open to find his two best students fiddling with what looked like a typewriter keyboard. At the feminine gasp he met Hermione Granger’s eyes, and blinked at Blaise Zabini placing the keyboard by his right hand. 

“Sir, we know that your mobility and ability is limited. Zabini and I have charmed this to help with your communication.” Snape raised an eyebrow. Zabini working with anything muggle? As if to read his mind, Blaise grimaced and volunteered, “Despite blood, there’s not many at the school able to design spells at the moment. It’s crude but it would help, sir.” Snape was taken aback. The Zabini arrogance he had expected must have suffered a great blow from the war. Severus thought back to the typewriter his father had kept and slowly typed out  _ AZKABAN _ . The letters lit up like an old marquee sign, guaranteed to grab attention.

Blaise nodded, “Enough evidence and character witnesses privy to your spy status have absolved most of your crimes. Harry Potter spoke in your defense. They’re still arguing about the Second Class Order of Merlin, but at least it’s not a Dementor Kiss” 

Hermione chimed in, “You will be serving a year of community service sentence by potion brewing, once you’re up to it. The entire Wizarding World has been scrambling for anything of quality; Blaise and I are part of a ten person brewing team.” Snape typed  _ SCHOOL _ . “We are starting up as usual this year. The repairs have started on the wings with significant damage, and the castle is slowly patching itself here and there.” 

“Less than half the usual numbers are returning. Most of the young ones escaped relatively unscathed. Only a handful per house for seventh year.” Blaise softly reported with shuttered eyes. “Sir –” A trill interrupted him. Blaise checked the time with his wand and sighed. “The sixth batch is ready.” There was a pop of knees when the Slytherin squeezed Hermione’s shoulder and hoisted himself up with the air of an arthritic. Hermione nodded and patted his hand before he left. Snape just raised an eyebrow.

“We’ve been brewing almost non-stop in shifts, Sir. It’s too much effort to maintain animosity. Exhaustion has succeeded to unite the houses.” The smile on her face was tinged bitter before she straightened. “Now, Sir, we have the back issues of potions journals that the house-elves said you were too busy to read as Headmaster.” Snape felt a practised cleansing charm flutter through his hair and over his face, before the Muggleborn witch reached over and plumped up his pillow gently with a habitual air. Hermione looked up and blushed at the stark shock on Snape’s face. “Oh. I’m sorry Sir, Blaise and I have done that for so long while you were unconscious. I – I didn’t mean to – That is to say – Oh bother, we just wanted you comfortable.” Snape blinked at the witch with amazement. He had tormented her for their entire association and yet she had obviously visited him regularly for… he squinted  _ DATE. _ “January 22 nd , Sir.” Almost three months. As she started reading, he realized that the sound of her voice was familiar, it had laced through his hazy dreaming. As his eyes drifted shut, Severus Snape internally snorted. This was the most realistic, psychedelic potions reaction he’d experienced yet.

Hermione looked up when she heard his breathing deepen. She gently set the journal aside and extracted the bottle of marjoram and chamomile sitting just under the bed by the cot’s leg. She gently dabbed a finger to the potion master’s upper lip just under the septum. Blaise had now left this task to her, after noticing their professor frowned with him and didn’t with her. Hermione stopped herself from stroking his forehead and hair when he had been heavily drugged. While the man was without bite now that the war was done, she doubted he would understand. Already, he was so confused by her ablution routine that he merely blinked at her. 

At first, it had been helping Madam Pomfrey and Hannah manage the staggering workload. Three of their brewing team were assigned the Hospital Wing to lend their efforts to in between brewing shifts. Despite the efficiency of house-elves, there was no shortage of tasks to accomplish in rebuilding the school, and the rest of their team was on clean-up or repair duty. Zabini had been horrified of the state his Head of House was in, the lack of respect from the lack of time available to the personnel. So they had spent their breaks reading to him, waiting for any semblance of cognizance. Both of them had known what horrors Snape had kept at bay as headmaster. When the rationing of potions started, their brewing skills and comfort was all they could offer. With the flurry of rebuilding, they continued to be Severus Snape’s sole visitors. Zabini out of respect for his only stable father figure. Hermione out of growing affection for a man based on his deeds rather than cutting remarks. Their spell-linked self-indexing expanding planners were filled with thousands of notes, yet everyday they allotted time to Snape.

 

Ironically, they were the first to start performing badly needed hygiene spells, so often that it was second nature and wandless. Zabini was adept with the spells from bad experiences with his mother and various husbands, and Hermione with mutters about potion contamination and infection. Cleaning was a foreign but necessary task, now that the house elf population had been reduced and greatly focused on castle construction. Cross the hospital threshold, clean, cross the potions laboratory threshold, clean. In the same fashion of necessity, Zabini and Hermione started prioritizing potions based on medication schedules, coordinated briefing and progress reports, assigning routine tasks to the younger students trying to help. A grudging respect for each other developed while keeping upright on caffeine and muddling through the tasks that McGonagall delegated. After two months, the house-elves and students started deferring to them for direction. Blaise grudgingly approved of Hermione’s colour coding and contingency planning. Hermione approved of Blaise’s matter of fact assessments towards goals and the big picture. 

Blaise had quickly twigged on Hermione’s attraction to the potions master, before she had even realized it herself. He watched her stroke back Snape’s hair and freshen the pillow linen. Her face took in the new lines brought by illness and stress of war, as if committing them to memory. His hushed tone gentle as he asked, “How long have you loved him?” She stared at Blaise as she slowly sank back into her chair. “I’ve seen thousands of men look at my mother that way, and two men she returned it to. I’m well versed at spotting what others rarely do.” Hermione fiddled with the hem of the blanket.

“I’m not entirely sure when. I actually didn’t realize it myself until you mentioned it.” She sighed and dabbed the marjoram oil blend absently onto her fingers, spreading it to her pulse points at her wrists. The magically amplified aromatherapy oils a crude but effective stop-gap measure to buy more time for potion brewing. “I’ve spent so long trying to impress him, then working with him in the Order, then against him, to find out how much he had sacrificed for us. It’s been a never-ending battle, Snape was always… there and now…” Blaise took the oil in turn and elegantly mirrored her actions.

“He was always resilient, a presence. We always took strength from that, however annoying it sometimes was. I hate seeing this flicker. Even more, the coffin they kept by his bed the first week.” The trills from their wands beckoned their return to the laboratory. They both stretched and started back. “You know that the age difference is miniscule relative to wizarding aging? And technically, he’s not an active professor.” Hermione picked up their steaming mugs of coffee from the tray Winky held, handing Blaise his preferred giant mug. The house-elf had been patiently waiting in the hallway en route to the dungeons. She watched him over the porcelain rim.

“If I didn’t know otherwise Zabini, I would think you actually approve of the idea.” 

The Slytherin shrugged. “The war has killed all blood and allegiances alike, and we’re dealing with those that may very well die after the fact. We should grab at anything that makes life worth living.”

Hermione set her finished mug on the tray outside the laboratory door. “So, Nott?” Blaise smirked. “Mmm, he’s just so… capable, isn’t he?” Blaise took her by the elbow before she could open the door.

“I know another Slytherin more capable than my dear Theo. I wasn’t just being philosophical Granger, take what you can. The worst is being paralyzed by fear, and I know that’s beneath you. At least I think so, wouldn’t want to prove me wrong now.”

Hermione blushed and cleared her thoughts to focus on the giant cauldron of Blood-Replenishing Potion. She couldn’t very well confess love to a man more concerned with gaining the ability to speak or move his limbs.


	2. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape continues to curse his bodily prison, and now his too active mind. Legilimency is only valuable if he had the ability to act upon what he finds. Blaise is ever needling everyone forward, and frustrated with the incompetence of the general public, while he and Hermione prepare for the start of term. Hermione is determined to stay at Hogwarts, where she makes a completely unforeseen discovery.
> 
> Beta read thanks to Tanguera!

Hermione relegated the letter to the fire. Blaise looked up from his seat on the rug, beside the furiously scribbling Theo Nott surrounded by the hasty piles of books and notes. While twirling a coloured quill, Blaise drawled out.

“Bad news? Or worse news?” Hermione turned back to her planner, noting Theo’s rapid notations appearing on the page, and sighed as she made a few corrections.

“Irrelevant news. Molly Weasley trying to appeal to my senses, to take life seriously rather than finish my NEWT levels. There were between-the-line suggestions about my nonexistent relationship with Ron stalling. It just sounds like a bunch of ‘pop out babies’ malarkey.” Theo finally paused in his work with a snort.

“Is Madam Weasel aware of how much that would amount to child abuse? Everything is a mess, the potion shortage could even endanger both mother and child.” As he spoke, Blaise and Hermione stared at one another in panicked horror. “Wait, if she’s encouraging it…” Hermione immediately started noting the ingredients and timeline for contraceptive, prenatal and childbirth related potions. Blaise groaned and crushed his quill in frustration.

“There’s going to be some godforsaken baby boom. Of course, the population is idiotic enough to celebrate without actual thought to the damn consequences.” Blaise nearly tore through the parchment while looking over her shoulder, with the additional ingredients. He tossed a furious handful of Floo powder into the fire, before chucking a six foot-long list in, then sticking his head in and relaying further instructions. Blaise was still muttering, when he summoned a house-elf and handed it another roll of parchment. “Please give this list to Neville Longbottom. You can tell him the priority level remains the same for the greenhouse. Afterwards, we would like a light dinner brought up. Thank you.” Hermione stretched, trying to ease the lower back ache that was more times present than not. Theo tutted then waved her to the sofa.

“Granger, you’re going to have to visit the healers at this rate.” Blaise watched his lover ease the knots in the witch’s back muscles. He was looking forward to his own massage, though with more pleasurable endings. “Despite the staggering responsibilities you two have, you’ve got to relax at some point. Blaise manages it.”

Hermione sighed. “Theo I’m not going to find some random wizard to roger. Nor would any healer have the time for me at the moment. I thought we were done with this.” She grunted as he dug knuckles into a particularly sore spot.

“Doesn’t have to be random.” She glared at Blaise, assuming he had shared private information. “Or a wizard.” Then blushed and broke eye contact at Blaise’s disdainful eyebrow. So her secret was still hers. 

“Yes, Hermione. Doesn’t have to be random at all.” Hermione rolled her eyes at Zabini and gasped at the strength of Nott’s hands. They were interrupted by the squeak of a tiny young house-elf barely holding up under the weight of the sandwiches and juice pitcher. With Nott busy relieving the poor creature, Hermione smacked Blaise’s shoulder lightly with the back of her hand, then moved forward to ascertain her share from the monstrous appetite Nott usually had.

 

Severus Snape, Potions Master, Spy, Prisoner. The bitter train of his thoughts trundled down well-travelled tracks. Especially now that he indeed was imprisoned in his own body, reduced to barely having the strength to lift his arm in any way past the elbow. While he could wiggle his toes, Snape had no energy for the unbearable itch on his left shin. The soft echo of potion residue heralded her arrival, from the wisps he caught – more Calming Draught and… Contraception? Hermione Granger examined his face while she cleansed and untangled his hair.

“Itch or pain?” Severus sighed in relief and typed  _ I,  _ then watched his former student hover over parts of his body before he blinked.  She lightly scratched his lightly hairy leg until his fingers curled, then flipped the blanket back over. He wondered idly where else she would be willing to scratch, before mentally chided himself. Boredom and a usually exercised libido were getting the better of him, but she was lovely to look at and rather highly attentive to his needs. Severus knew simpering and toadying. The quiet air Hermione took during her regular visit and tasks with his body were neither. He was always… pampered. Case in point, the thoughtful moisturizing spell she cast on his skin before carefully rotating his ankles and wrists, bending his knees towards his chest, and arms above his head and to the side. No, he had only seen this type of devotion in St. Mungo’s palliative care ward amongst family. He skimmed her thoughts lightly to avoid detection. His chest tightened.

“Sir, would you like to finish the Brazilian entry on ingredient substitution?” Severus could only blink, letting her voice wash over him but retaining nothing. This girl, no woman. His heart raced at the familiar feeling he had just experienced. The overwhelming ache of unrequited love, for once was not his. No, the guilt was still there, Lily was always there muted now by time and this recent shock. Snape’s mind turned over through this new development, fluttering pages of courses of action and consequences.  This slip of a girl couldn’t possibly know what love was, or the damage their relationship would cause to her reputation. Wasn’t she to marry the ginger? His eyes glazed at the passing wisp of thought, married to Hermione. Quiet evenings sitting close in front of the fire, reading potion journals over a nightcap. Snape cursed his immobility for nth time, he needed to walk, to brew something, blast a tree. Instead, he was left with his treacherous thoughts of what if. It was not uncommon for a teacher to take up with a former student. 

Footsteps alerted the two to the approaching Zabini. He took up the journal, and suggested Hermione updated the brewing plan with the patient schedules. She nodded and left after smoothing the blanket over Severus’ chest. Blaise tracked his professor’s eyes, which followed the witch. It turned into a glare. The younger man smirked.

“You could do worse, sir. The political and financial weight; just needs a little polish. I’ve been told a younger wife can be invigorating.” Snape curled his hand into a two finger salute.  _ HOW LONG. _ Zabini put aside the journal. “How long has she loved you, or how long before you can move and answer her?” Snape blinked agreement to both. “Months. I found out quite early in our visits,  and your healing is hampered. It’s slow to regrow your vocal chords, liver and lung with limited potions.” Snape processed the insurmountable stretch of time he was to remain in this cursed bed. He only snapped to attention at Blaise’s hesitation. “Sir…however you handle it… you will be gentle?” Severus felt as out of depth as Zabini clearly did, rarely in any of their conversations did they discuss the fairer sex in this way. Previously, he had only advised his student on the more effective contraception methods, or on discretion, upon observing that Blaise’s romantic ability almost rivalled his mother’s. Gentleness was foreign to their House, reserved for the rest. What had the world become, if high and mighty Blaise Zabini was now protective of muggleborn Hermione Granger. 

They heard her soft footfall, she smiled at both of them and said, “I’m off to adjust the next batches, and find myself lunch. Would you like anything?” Blaise shook his head, and the potions master typed  _ N _ . Again, Blaise watched Snape’s eye movement as she left. Severus maintained eye contact as he typed  _ Y. _

  
  


Hermione tickled the pear. The kitchens were still warm as ever, but nearly empty. One senior elf was stirring a large pot constantly, while squeaking orders to tiny young elves and Winky. The other adult house-elves most likely helping the castle restore itself. The Astronomy Tower roof and railings still required attention. It would be less than a week before other students arrived for the start of term, rather than forcing them to brave Diagon Alley, Blaise and Hermione organized the bulk purchase of books and essential supplies. The individual packages covered the kitchen’s tables. She had only finished her stew and cup of tea, when an imperious squeak sounded.

“Neefa will speak with Missy SPEW.” The senior house-elf’s ear hair was so long she had braided it in with the one tuft of white hair, giving an almost crown to match the queenly air. Hermione inwardly sighed at the name, Neefa had set her straight on her first visit. There would be no talk of shameful freedom, respect yes, but Missy SPEW was not to cause any more trouble. Hermione approached the elf, who stood on a stool while stirring. A quick glance revealed the pot’s contents to be caramel. She remembered receiving a small bag of caramels the first week at Hogwarts, the familiar candy had helped her transition to a new place. “Owls have no home. Cats and frogs have no home. Neefa thinks Astronomy Tower is best.” Hermione blinked, then cursed. She had grown so accustomed to using Blaise’s owl or Theo’s falcon, and forgotten about the population of owls. Their home was set ablaze to impair communications during the war. Merlin, a quick calculation and Hermione boggled at the number of pets that had been left to forage after the evacuation until now. “House-elves take care of them but soon to be cold, and students send letters.” Hermione nodded, the efficiency of house-elves still astonished her. 

“Thank you for notifying me Neefa, I will notify the others of the Astronomy Tower’s new purpose and set up visits for students to reclaim their pets. Will you need any provisions in setting up roosts or habitats?” Neefa’s ears flapped as she shook her head. Hermione quickly noted the new task of setting up time slots and signage under Terry Boot’s column to be delegated to a younger year if needed. She paused as Neefa swiveled a long crooked finger, and a cheesecloth bag of herbs floated out before a smaller pot started pouring clear liquid into the caramels. It smelled like… “Neefa, is that lavender and sage?”

“Yes, Missy SPEW.”

“Have you always made the caramels like that?” Hermione’s mind turned in time with the giant wooden spoon Neefa held.

“House-elves help. No bad dreams. Happy Hogwarts. All Neefa’s life, I does this. Neefa makes all candy at Hogwarts.” Good gracious, the house-elves had been dosing frightened first year students with a crude version of the Calming Draught. There was always candy around Hogwarts, not all from Honeydukes and Hermione had always wondered over the lack of cavities and occurrence of diabetes. “And Neefa helps Master Flume at Christmas.” Wait, what?

“Neefa, you mean to say you make all the candy in Honeydukes?” The senior house-elf rolled her eyes expressively.

“Neefa does not make all, Master Flume also make some, Master Flume buys beans and gum and whizzbees and spiders.” Hermione had seen potions in candy, Romilda’s chocolates that made Ron go mental. But that was a potion poured over them, not brewed  _ into  _ the actual food. Muggles had time-release capsules for medication, but no such equivalent existed in the wizarding world. Some potions reacted adversely when taken too close together, or had nonexistent shelf life. But in candy form, the crystalline properties of sugar could… Hermione’s mind sped into a whirl. And she sat down hard on the kitchen floor.

Severus’s potion schedule was extremely taxing to prevent his new throat tissue from necrotizing; the new flesh was extremely susceptible to infection. But if he had a lozenge that slowly released dittany or strengthening solution or… His healing speed for internal organ damage would increase with a steady drip of potion supply rather than the feast and famine he currently endured.

“Neefa, will you teach me how to make candy?” Neefa’s bulging eyes widened, so much Hermione wondered they didn’t pop out of her skull.

“Missy is needing Neefa’s help?” At Hermione’s nod. “Missy must ask Master Flume, Master says some candies secret.”

Only minutes later, Hermione found herself sending a letter using Theo’s falcon to Master Flume. She had penned it requesting an appointment to speak on her interest in candy making. Immediately after the falcon left, she started rapidly jotting shorthand thoughts onto parchment. The deluge of possibility made her dizzy with hope. She only could stop after several hours, then mulling this turn of events. She stared at the letters from Ron and Molly Weasley, they sat at the corner of her desk with the promise of eliciting anger. The falcon pompously perched on top of the letters she was glaring at and delivered a wax sealed envelope. 

Hermione breathed out as she finished reading the contents. Somewhere along the way, she had lost confidence in what was next. She didn’t want to be a brood-mare, nor a trophy wife, nor some icon of the war. Master Flume had agreed. Hermione would meet him at 10 o’clock the next Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks. She tapped the refolded letter against her lips, the vague shadows of the future starting to take shape in her mind’s eye.


	3. Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione speaks with Master Flume; her discovery may just be a theoretical flash in the pan. Zabini and Snape chafe at being in the dark, due to her uncertainty. The healing process continues to be agonizingly slow for the potions master, and he begins to have more than a cursory awareness of Hermione's charms. 
> 
> Beta read thanks to Tanguera!

Blaise started wondering where Hermione was. The desk she had claimed, in their shared sitting room turned strategic base, carried only a neat pile of ignored missives from Potter and Weasels to be burned. She brewed her shift, attended her classes, ate quickly with Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley, visited Snape then disappeared. The planner still updated with a barrage of notes, completed items, and tasks to be delegated. However, Hermione’s physical presence was absent from the habitual position at Blaise’s side. Theo, finally fed up with his surliness, drawled out, “Are you a wizard or not? Use that Point-Me- spell.” Then cursed at his pocket watch, already running down a staircase as his wand started trilling. Blaise was distinctly less graceful in his exit, stomping in the direction his wand pointed towards the library.

Hermione was ready to pull out her hair. For the first time in her entire Hogwarts memory, Madam Pince had revealed no knowledge of a particular subject in what was left of the library. With a sniff, the vulture-like woman had informed Hermione that 276 out of 300 household related volumes had survived the general destruction of past school years and the war. The dilapidated charred remains of books considered harmless or worthless by Death Eaters, Order and D.A. alike. Gilderoy Lockhart’s books remained untouched with a slight whiff of smoke. A few of the books Hermione flipped through had embedded splinters from exploded shelves. Clearly, Madam Pince was strained in confirming that her previously glorious and precious library was a fraction of the catalogue from unchecked filching and rampant spell damage.

Hermione was sitting on a three-legged stool at a sorry-looking table. The tabletop was black on one side from proximity to heat, a corner had been sliced off and someone had stuck on a spell-stretched baluster of an entirely different wood.  But it was the least wobbly table of the three and a half left. She eyed the wildly waving plume of Madam Pince’s quill. The librarian had clearly recovered after freezing in unmitigated shock when Hermione had asked her to put together four lists: needed repairs, essential but missing books, required equipment and supplies, and valuable rare volumes to be replaced. The Gryffindor shook her head, term had already started and only now had she realized her former sanctuary had been defiled. Although, their brewing team had primarily consulted the texts available in the classroom, from their personal collections or the headmaster’s office. The budget would be miniscule for library restoration, she would have to start being creative with the funds, but the students wouldn’t be greatly affected with their books already provided. Hermione flipped through the spell copied parchments, in two weeks she had only found two candy recipes out of 276 volumes labelled household related, one offhand mention in an arithmancy booklet, four footnotes in outdated herbology guides, and two references to the same recipe in a missing restricted grimoire. Her appointment with Ambrosius Flume was in two hours, and all she had were scraps of information, two measly recipes and a scant several hours shadowing Neefa in the kitchens.

A scrape of chair legs and Blaise swung his legs up onto the table, he levelled his gaze at her with crossed arms.

“Spill Hermione.” His counterpart grimaced and started arranging papers and books of dessert recipes.

“I have a personal project Blaise. I'm just not sure if it will pan out.” She carefully tucked away her sheaf of parchment detailing her three research proposals. Blaise nodded.

“Yes and that's great. How long will we be on the back burner until you're satisfied it's ‘panned’ out?” Blaise watched Granger draw herself up with indignation.

“I haven't neglected any of my responsibilities!”

“No, but you're not all there, Severus asked me about your health.” The potions master was usually chipper after a good journal bashing with his faithful scribe Hermione, and was rightly concerned when she nodded off in the middle of a page.

“Soon Blaise, I promise. I must be off now.” Blaise drew back, his expression soured further. “It’s not a brush off, I have to meet someone about this. And you know I wouldn't entertain something frivolous.” She chewed her lip as of about to say more, then turned and marched decidedly away. Zabini watched her gait before contemplating what to say to Snape or Theo.

 

Ambrosius Flume’s smooth scalp gleamed under the brightly shining sconces of his upstairs office. The window overlooked the street from above Honeydukes Sweetshop, the students and Hogsmeade residents a sea of colour. Hermione noted all this clinically as she felt sweat droplets slowly roll down her back. They had only just been seated and already she was trying to regulate her breathing.

“Please explain your interest in candy making Ms. Granger. I don’t often warrant any interest from students except for the price of Jelly Slugs. Your request for a meeting was… lacking in detail.”

Hermione inhaled. “Well Sir. I have asked Neefa about learning candy making from her, and Neefa refused until I spoke with you. I assume the recipes are secret for proprietary reasons.” Hermione exhaled. She had managed not to ramble like a fool. Flume surely was an excellent poker player, his face revealed nothing. She pulled out the sheaf of parchment paper from her bag. Flume took the parchments with a skeptical frown, and Hermione tried to not flinch as cold sweat droplets continued to roll down. “I haven't had much luck in finding past research corroborating my theories. Though the Hogwarts library is in need of repair, I have only found two recipes since I wrote to you.” Three proposals exchanged hands, carefully mapping out how candy making would theoretically affect multiple potion stabilization, long acting time release, and amplification.

Flume fingers flipped through the tables of arithmancy calculations neatly lined up with potion ingredients, his frown remained. The close examination of her notations reminded Hermione that the man before her was a Slug Club alumnus, he understood her postulations as an adept potioneer before his chosen profession. His large fingers with curious dye spots, presumably from adding the riot of colours expected in sweets, had barely flipped passed the halfway mark of her second proposal before he set the handful down.

He pulled out his wand from a sleeve pocket and viciously flicked. The walls, ceiling and floor glowed blue to confirm the presence of the anti-eavesdropping spell he had cast as they entered. The man slowly leaned back into his seat as he resheathed the wand, his hands steepled in front of his mouth. The lack of emotion was about to drive her spare.

“My dear, the reason for the lack of information is both business and practicality. Practical as amateurs of candy-making at this level end up poisoned or blown up, which is wise on your part to consult me. Secrecy is vital to this business as recipes are our livelihood, and corporate espionage is rampant.” A soft chop of one hand onto the parchment pile. Hermione jumped, his voice still dangerously soft and controlled. “Count yourself lucky. You have shown your proposals to me and not someone with a less ethical standpoint. Like potions patents, they would have merely kicked you out and taken your brilliance for their own. Now answer me sincerely. Are you willing to enter candy-making as a career or as a mere interest?”

Hermione gaped. The thought never occurred of her work possibly being stolen. She had unwittingly treated Ambrosius Flume, the kind candyman, as one of her professors, not as the shrewd businessman in front of her. She gathered up her composure and sat up straight.

“Sir. I want to be part of progress, as we rebuild it is exceedingly vital to move forward. From what I have learned from Neefa, candy-making is my opportunity to do so.” Hermione cursed her antiperspirant, one of the last muggle products she used,  it was clearly not up to the task. She waited nervously as Ambrosius continued to contemplate her. Hermione desperately wished she had a giant coffee mug to hide her face behind.

Flume’s chair squeaked as he leaned over to open a drawer, and pull out a stack of paperwork. He placed the first page out in front of her and slowly went down point by point, speaking faster than Hermione had ever heard from him before.

“This is what I offer, and you may take the next hour to decide. An Unbreakable Vow of Secrecy for the content of work you accomplish here as my apprentice, your NEWTs will overlap with your first year of a four-year apprenticeship with me. You will not publish, but submit patents. You may collect royalties and 35% of profit, IF Honeydukes exclusively markets and distributes your product during your apprenticeship, and one year after. You will be paid a base salary of 600 galleons a year as part-time, 1600 full-time with regular increments every six months based on performance. Headmistress McGonagall and staff will be notified. Unless you deem them trustworthy and discreet, it is expected you avoid speaking of your activities to acquaintances. You may simply indicate you have found part-time employment if questioned. Neefa will collect you on all Saturdays and Sunday mornings unless notified. You may work extra hours past the required 15 at 15 sickles an hour.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open as she read through the thick contract. She had intended to shadow the candy maker, learn a few recipes, not to gain an offer of employment. The ultimate goal was a chance at an apprenticeship after her NEWT year, not necessarily during her NEWT year.

“S-sir. This is exceedingly generous.” Apprenticeships typically excluded patent ownership and profit cut was offered primarily to established Masters for a pittance, apprentices worked like dogs until achieving mastery. The pages also indicated that her room and board were provided after her last term at Hogwarts. Hermione’s fingers trembled as she signed her name.

Flume’s mouth curled into a smirk reminiscent of a potions professor. “My dear, these –” he brandished the sheaf of proposals “– are the keys to an empire. I need to make sure you return, once you reach mastery. Neefa approves of you, if I had a son I would demand marriage.”

 

Severus was tired of waiting. Where was that girl? While Blaise had assured him that Hermione was indeed well, he was of the adage “seeing is believing”. He had grown accustomed to hearing her voice echo his thoughts on the potion journals their owl subscription brought. She was a valuable asset in recording and sending back their mutual criticism. The publisher had started a weekly review column, primarily featuring their regular critical correspondence, keeping the name Severus Snape current with accumulating publications.

He examined his still weak limbs and derisively thought it typical, the only physical contact with a lovely and intelligent woman was while trapped in a mute shell. Their communication restricted to the spelled typewriter keyboard, it was a relief from frustrating limbo when the potion fog finally lifted enough to use his Legilimens ability. It was difficult to argue via marquee text, especially with idiots that disregarded common sense, and he could now push his meaning into their thick skulls.

There was rapid steps. Ah finally. Snape typed _?_

“Sorry Sir, I just got back from Hogsmeade. I - hang on.” Hermione’s wand flicked a blue anti-eavesdropping spell around the stool she perched on and his cot. “I have accepted an apprenticeship with Master Ambrosius Flume. I asked him if it was alright to show you my contract summary. But that's why I have been so distracted lately. I've been working on a personal project that morphed into this.” _SHOW ME._

Severus knew Flume, he was a sharp businessman with the guise of candy floss. Snape’s dark eyes read the sheet Hermione held up for his perusal. “I know that I should have considered it for a longer length of time but he insisted I had only an hour to consider. With what I've read of other apprenticeship terms, it's quite reasonable.” Snape narrowed his eyes. He couldn't have read that right. This was beyond anything he himself had been offered. _GOOD TERMS._ Hermione smiled brightly at him. Severus didn't dwell on the warmth in his chest or the twitch of his groin. _NEWT QUICK MORE LAB._ “Yes, I agree, I would also better concentrate once my NEWT work is done.”

They continued to discuss the new development in the most general terms: challenges, balancing classes, and so on. It was a strange comfortable conversation of typed shorthand, her quiet babble and the occasional shared memory of Severus’ own apprenticeship. Hermione slowly exercised his limbs with a firm and gentle touch. By the end of it, Severus was panting against the chest ache of a newly matured left lung, and mentally swearing at himself. His cock was ignoring the inability of the rest of his body. The scent of her hair was intoxicating. He registered little else as his muscles spasmed, watching her expressive features and breathing her scent, while she read through the latest imbecilic attempt in improving a fertility draught.


	4. Comprehension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many responsibilities have been delegated to the unlikely Granger-Zabini pair, and many more have been taken up in the spirit rather than letter of the law. Blaise and Hermione make a stand for their version of progress, rather than the Ministry's campaign. Severus escapes the cursed bed. Flume sees opportunity as any good entrepreneur does.
> 
> Beta read thanks to Tanguera!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rather long chapter compared to the initial three. I have tried not lose momentum yet prevent a rushed feeling, please let me know if I did or didn't succeed. Reviews are very much appreciated!

Hagrid and Grawp stood at the treeline, waiting patiently as Luna softly murmured the last of her instructions to the last squadron of pixies and gnomes. The blonde sat astride a restless thestral with her hair freely fluttering in the light breeze. 

“A’right, Luna. We better get started, the centaurs shouldnae be kept waiting. They said the human camp isnae far.” Luna patted the thestral’s neck, carefully shifting the bag holding her updating planner. 

“Ready Hagrid. Remember, Blaise didn’t just want population numbers.”

 

Neville watched the blue lights of Luna’s pixies fly off, the Forbidden Forest Census was now underway, he made his way down the path towards Hogsmeade where Adrian Pucey was waiting to conduct the first town hall meeting. The magical solicitor stiffly stood at the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, politely holding off questions from the more rabid residents and shopkeepers.

“Pucey.”

“Longbottom, about time. I was not expecting this as part of my responsibilities. Can we get this over with?” Neville smiled and held the door open for the Slytherin.

“Relax Pucey, you knew your retainer would ask the unusual. We’re just asking them to hold an election. Nothing more than getting them organized.”

 

Blaise watched the pages of his planner impatiently, while tapping an antique ink pen against the maps and notations he had just finished. His desk shifted with a moan. Theo didn’t bother lifting his head from the italian’s chest.

“I thought we finished. What are you still doing up?” Blaise smirked as he stroked the tanned shoulder, before tangling his fingers in the dark hair growing a touch too long. Theo playfully nipped at his hip watching the smirk fade, Blaise carefully shifted aside his notes, a large tome of the Hogwarts Constitution, and the three grimoires from the Abbott, Nott and Longbottom vaults. 

“No, tesoro, we’re not finished.” Zabini rolled them over and swallowed Nott’s moan as he grinded down in a practised rhythm, guaranteed to leave Nott exhausted enough to sleep dreamlessly.

 

The dittany and strengthening potion lozenges were easy enough to mock up, the concentration was slowly ramped up until Hermione and Ambrosius were able to determine their arthritic nogtails were more stoned than comfortable. The nogtail circulatory system was the most similar to humans, and the crystallised candy had proven to amplify the dittany effects. With great delight and mental hand rubbing on Flume’s part, Hermione had determined their crystalline structure nearly tripled intensity with an acting rate equal to lozenge dissolution time. Their product could not come at a better time with the astronomical rise in price of dittany essence, providing relief to war victims and those still fighting Death Eater vestiges at the continent’s outskirts; the greenhouse section Neville had dedicated to the plant was bringing in a tidy profit. Severus coined the name of the lozenges, Inner Balm. Little did he know, Ambrosius was using the title when the product debuted at St. Mungo’s and select apothecaries Wednesday morning. After much arguing, Hermione gave in to the ironic marketing scheme. 

“Sir, it’s a ridiculous name.” Like all Slytherins, Flume had clearly received instruction in eyebrow raising. “No self-serving Pureblood wo - ”

“That’s the point. No self-serving Pureblood would  _ know. _ My dear, what better way to thumb your nose at them. It’s a wonderful play on words. By the time they realize it, we will be too instrumental to boycott.”

“There are plenty of half-bloods or muggleborns that might explain it.”

“It is benign enough to be a harmless giggle.  **Madam Garner’s Spoonful of Sugar.** Close enough in meaning yet far enough in actuality from your own name. Medicinal and candy-making properties indicated, it’s perfect!” Flume’s wand flicked to roll up the banner he had been admiring and Hermione ogling in horror. It was the new line’s title in large red-rimmed white font, the last R’s tail crossed with a spoon holding a sugar cube

“Surely, we’re impinging on copyright laws somewhere.” Ambrosius corralled his young pupil with a friendly arm about her shoulders, gently guiding her back to her laboratory in the expanded flat upstairs. “It’s so blatant.”

“It’s legitimate, trademark and registration complete. Now, I predict an influx of orders, and have thought to enlist another potioneer. Would you object to another working on the line with you?” Hermione paused. She had learned quite a bit of the ruthless environment she was now firmly entrenched in, by rights Ambrosius could simply order another body into the lab without her sayso. He was demonstrating respect by even asking her consideration. Another person might also mean competition and perhaps increased correspondence to ensure her entitlement to patents. “Of course, continued monitoring of the laboratory will determine proportion of residuals with the usual pre-product launch negotiation. As stipulated in our last contract amendment.” Fair.

“Yes, Sir, that will suffice. Though I hope a good working relationship can be accomplished.” Flume closed the thick door with an incline of his head. He turned towards his office. His missive to a fellow Slytherin potions enthusiast already sat folded on his desk, waiting for a wax seal. It was a bother that his new addition’s full attention couldn’t be garnered until that pesky Ministry mandate was complete. It was enough of a headache to receive permission for Honeydukes production to be eligible for a portion of the brewing mandate, without giving away their product launch, it had to be hidden as a general vendor request for any serving such sentences to help in community revival. Nothing like romantic inclinations to prevent the usual cutthroat competition seen in development potions labs. Ambrosius Flume sat back with content after he sent along the letter with his wife’s tiny owl. His wife loved weddings, absolutely adored Hermione. While the Flumes were achingly childless, Cariana Flume was already hoping to god-parent a dark, curly haired child with expressive eyebrows.  Now for Snape to merely sign, and his wife’s vision would fall into place. The Honeydukes proprietor tapped his wand briskly at the ballot, Aberforth Dumbledore only smiled at his goats but he had a good head on his shoulders.

 

Severus carefully levered himself into the wheelchair, grunting with the effort and wincing when his shin barked awkwardly against a metal bar. Hermione hovered, but kept enough distance to allow him this act of independence. The nostrils of his hooked nose flared as he tried to catch his breath. She arranged a blanket onto his lap, then pressed his ever present lozenges into the less clenched left hand. He smiled and caught the corner of her lips in a kiss before she could straighten. Almost laughing when her eyes widened and the tremulous smile that resulted.

“Thank you, Hermione. I thought our walk could include the lake today.” The brunette quickly turned the chair towards the door, excited at the burst of energy and good mood in the potions master.

“Of course, Severus.” Their routine was slowly changing, now that he had a steady stream of potions rather than stop-gap measures. Physical therapy had become more intensive but he was finally out of that cursed bed. It was a brisk day and the cold misting rain would have been a bother without warming and water repelling charms. Snape reflected that it was a relief that he could finally wheel himself into the baths, it was humiliating enough depending on the magical bed pans. The potions they had weaned him off of had suppressed his libido, and it returned with a roaring vengeance. The past week he was back on his regular daily shower and wank schedule. It made his slow seduction a little easier without the threat of embarrassing random erections, especially when he inhaled too much of her scent. 

Severus took her small calloused hand in his, noting the locations coincided with a stirring rod, while they watched the sunset and the Giant Squid attempt to catch a gull. “I want to take you to dinner. Once I get out of this chair.” Hermione gently squeezed.

“I would love that, even  _ with _ the chair.” She leaned in and brushed her lips against his shyly. Snape deepened the kiss and tasted her eagerly. But stopped with a grunt of dismay when the chair arm dug into his side. With a smile, Hermione pecked his cheek. “Okay, it would be slightly more enjoyable without the chair. For now, dinner with Blaise and Theo?” Snape nodded with a ragged breath against her cheek.

They entered the sitting room she shared with the other two Slytherins. The moment they crossed the threshold, a wall of sound assaulted them.

“You think that you can just keep her from us!”

“I don’t keep her from anything! Listen to yourself, when does anyone keep Hermione fucking Granger from doing what she damn pleases.”

“She wouldn’t stay here! Just ignoring what’s happening out there. She would act!” 

“What good is getting your NEWTs if there are Death Eaters still out there? When the Ministry is rebuilding the real world, instead of this ruddy castle!”

Hermione viewed the scene dispassionately, Ginny had indeed warned that Harry and Ron were being stoked into a blaze by her conniving mother. It left a bitter taste knowing how short Fred’s mourning period was before Molly returned to her old tricks again. She had shared many a laugh with Blaise, keeping up with the chasing antics pulled by her former housemates, skirmish after skirmish dutifully reported yet they asked nothing of her work at Hogwarts. Realised nothing of the foothold being made at Hogwarts, nothing of the foundations being poured. Nothing of economics and the potion market strangling the entire Wizarding World, the result after Voldemort assassinated four fifths of the leaders in potioneering. They had no idea of her apprenticeship. There had been no point in disclosing her new career, when every letter they wrote requested her to join them as Aurors. Hermione had read every letter and envisioned the possible future every time, only left with the certainty that her research and skills would merely relegate her to servitude for their exploits of glory. It was shock that the respect Blaise afforded her as an equal outweighed anything received from the two boys in front of her, two lost and self-important boys led astray by Ministry propaganda. And judging from the ring on Harry’s finger, possibly the repopulation aspect as well.

“Hermione! There you are! We’ve come to bring you back to the Burrow.” She could feel Severus’ steady gaze on her, feel her hot rage suddenly implode into ice, feel her eyebrow raise. More drivel poured out of their mouths, and she waited. Finally, a break in the nonsense.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” A flick of her wrist and Hermione tossed floo powder into the fire with a clipped.

“The Burrow.” Then she pointed at the fire, her gesture clear enough to bring the two interlopers up short.

“We just want to talk to you. See reason, Mione!” Ron’s face was a shade off, yet so oddly close to his hair colour it clashed magnificently.

“I do see reason. My work here is just that. Reason, logic and results. I do not care a whit for whatever misogynistic reasoning why I must accompany you in every venture. You may leave as I have  _ my  _ work to do.” Ron’s eyebrows unattractively faded when his face reached the same shade as his hair. It was rather unappealing.

“You self-important bitch! Nothing but a jumped-up twat who knows nothing about what’s really out there! Precious studying won't make the world right ag-" Harry instead watched Hermione’s face harden. He deftly pushed Ron into the green flames, then tossed his own handful into the fire. Hermione wondered if Ginny was indeed succeeding at training her husband.

"Until we can manage a civil exchange, we are done." Harry didn’t look surprised, he swallowed resignedly, nodded and stepped in.

 

Hermione took refuge in the brewing lab the day her first product hit the shelves, complete with full-page newspaper ads. She was monitoring a giant cauldron in the simmering stage, considering whether to burn her next project outline. The mini jawbreaker amalgamating a bezoar and charcoal had been scrapped. It drew out poisons, and would be applicable in deactivating potions damage. The fouled water sources in the rest of Scotland would surely benefit. Yet the initial discussion she had with Flume worried her greatly. The man’s domed head had started sweating.

“And do you trust the current Ministry? Do you know all the aurors or unspeakables? If a version of this was in a person’s system and they were to drink veritaserum…” Hermione had been disappointed in herself for not considering the possible misuse. They had settled on a potential drink mix which filtered contaminants in the water, becoming a juice or tea. However, a niggling feeling caused Hermione to wonder if she was missing a deadlier aspect of abuse. A polite owl tap on the door. She opened it to find a kneazle almost bowed over by a teeny owl perched on its back. The piece of parchment had Flume’s spiky writing 

_ Sold out. Preorders have exceeded initial planned capacity. Mass production begins tomorrow. Congratulations.  _

Hermione recognized Cariana’s owl, and the kneazle as a resident of the astronomy tower. This one had chirped at her when she had inspected the cubby holes, and introduced the assigned house elf to care for the abandoned pets. It seemed to have adopted her, and was a steadfast companion with the owl, following her and ferrying her messages. Crookshanks likely would have scoffed at the energy of this younger counterpart, but he had disappeared shortly after the battle. With an owl treat and a cheek scratch, she excitedly finished her brewing, packaged the vials for shipment and trotted  to Severus’ rooms. 

 

She knocked and entered at his drawl. Snape looked up from his lists and schedules with surprise. Surely she hadn’t found out about his agreement, he had just sent off the hand-cramping signed contracts. No, he leaned back in his chair and let her chatter wash over him. His healing progress with the crystallized ginger amplifying regenerative, pain and anti-inflammatory potions. Her success and how Harry and Ron knowing nothing made it more satisfying and how the next product he had test-trialed would be hitting the shelves in two months. His dark eyes followed her as she paced and spoke, letting her good mood take possession of  him. His physical therapy had improved his muscle control enough to start brewing next week, yet while his magical strength and immune system had recovered, his legs still couldn’t support his own weight. Despite Hermione’s best efforts, the leg muscles had atrophied with the lengthy bed rest. 

Her arms came about him and Severus turned his head to meet her lips with his instead of his cheek. He deepened the kiss, then hoisted her onto his lap, enjoying the tiny squeak and her fingers twining in his hair. When she had to catch her breath, he murmured, "If not for these blasted legs, I'd show you how satisfied you can be." She blushed when he squeezed her rear with one hand and brushed the side of her breast with the other. Hmm, there may be benefits to the chair if it served as a good mobile base to fuck on. Already, Snape could think of various dark locations they could utilize with a good silencing charm. Hell, he could flip up her skirt and just enter her if people were used to seeing Hermione in his lap. Merlin, he was horny. A throat cleared. Well, bollocks.

Blaise leaned against the doorframe, as he watched his former potions master snog the breath out of Hermione firmly perched on his lap. "I see Granger’s experimentation on you has paid off." Hermione jolted then stood, shifting with care away from the hard length against her thigh. Snape merely huffed irritably his former student. What could be so important to interrupt them? This was a clear violation of the Slytherin's unwritten gentlemen’s code. Blaise handed Hermione a sheet of parchment.

“Aberforth has been elected as predicted. These are the latest numbers of Forbidden Forest inhabitants and current resources available.” Hermione’s squinted.

“These numbers can't be right.” 

“They are Granger. Word of mouth has been surprisingly effective. Hogwarts currently has the largest refugee camp squatting in our forest.” Hermione called a house-elf, and Neefa’s grand-niece arrived with a clipboard. She started listing off essential needs to be tended to by a branch group of house-elves of firstly the children and wounded, later females, then the male refugees.

“I’ve already sent word to Hogsmeade to begin shoring up magical strongholds and supplies of their own, portioning off what they can spare, and bartering for more. Neville thought ahead and gave all the years but Seventh a foraging schedule. Seventh years are done first planting and the last storage bin is complete. We need to start installing the wards we have planned.” Severus frowned. What in blazes was he talking about? Portioning? Foraging? 

“Mr. Zabini. The Hogwarts Constitution prohibits additional wards unless -” Zabini waved a hand dismissively.

“Approved by the Minister of Magic, or according to the statute added after Grindelwald in 1946 by great danger to students. The rescindment order has never been received after the Battle, and the students we have added to the register who live in the forest are in danger without the wards.” Understanding started to dawn on the elder Slytherin. He knew the two before him were intelligent, that they had taken on responsibilities more far-reaching than their peers dared conceptualize, but he couldn’t help wonder at the paranoia he was witnessing. Hermione finished her orders, jotted several notes that nearly tore the page in her planner, and smoothed the paper into the pocket of the leather cover. She had clutched at it so hard there were several wrinkles.  Severus tried again, still processing.

“McGonagall will not like this.” Surely the Gryffindor wouldn’t forget her head of house. But Hermione nodded,

“We know. But she has been road blocked at every turn by a nonexistent board and an interfering Ministry. She has officially delegated to Madam Pomfrey, who in turn has delegated to us.”

“Blaise, Hermione… what you’re proposing, if I’m making the right assumptions, it’s beyond what is needed.” The twin gazes of determination stopped him from further protest.

“No, Sir. It’s exactly what we need. We have been preparing Hogwarts for siege. Tonight, the gates close.”


	5. Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape realizes how much of a long game Blaise and Hermione can play. The Wizarding World wants to rebuild but should have been more specific on what 'progress' meant. Severely underestimated children were sent off to battle, and they returned as adults determined for change.
> 
> Beta read thanks to Tanguera!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing this chapter, I realized that it wasn't as strong on the development of Mdm G's. Then I scrolled down, and can assure you the next chapter will be more of Hermione's apprenticeship.
> 
> Reviews are very much appreciated!

The relationship between Hogwarts and the British Ministry of Magic was contentious at best. Early into the rebuild process, Blaise and Hermione had warily slept beside each other on blankets by the warmth of the kitchen fires. They had haltingly conversed on house-elf magic ensuring the survival of their new shelter.

“There hasn’t been any word from the Ministry.” Blaise remarked while slowly eating pieces he tore from his bread roll. Hermione froze for a moment, then continued writing in her planner, thinking how best to duplicate the information for others.

“I hope you’re not holding your breath, a representative will eventually show up when they want something from Hogwarts.”

“Please elaborate.”

“The Headmaster has historically been the only defence from the Ministry stripping the resources  here. We’ve only seen a fraction of what a Ministry appointed Headmaster would be like with Snape. He was careful to make it seem worse than it truly was. Hogsmeade, the lake, and majority of the greenhouses and forest are untouched or salvageable.” Hermione ticked off a few items. “There isn’t even a board of governors left, McGonagall is trying to figure out who’s in charge. We need approval of funds to purchase raw food materials for the elves. It’s bizarre that no one realizes this is our only imported essential need.” The Slytherin dusted his hands and tried to discreetly brush dirt out of his hair. His movements slowed as he processed the half-hearted mumblings, suggesting Granger was used to being ignored.

“Are you telling me that we’re almost self-sufficient?” Her scribbling stopped, a page flipped and Hermione was sketching a rough map.

“If we used these fields here and here for agriculture… we could very well be. We have shelter, education, a hospital wing and basic sanitation from the castle despite damage. Our water is sourced from the lake, the elves can process the raw foodstuff, and the greenhouses and forests for most potions ingredients. Those are all our basic needs.” Blaise curiously took her pen, studied it, before writing Longbottom where she had starred the fields.

“Your Longbottom has a green thumb, won’t he know how to go about that?” Hermione blinked. Astonished. For the first time, her ideas were heard and considered without conflict. Blaise watched earnestly as a slow smile spread across her face. “Then we could be independent. We wouldn’t be ignored. Well, until someone just apparates in.”

“Haven’t you ever read the History of Hogwarts? You can’t just apparate in, the wards don’t let you.” Zabini slowly drawled out as he was voicing his thought.

“What else can the wards do?”

 

Blaise and Hermione shivered, as they hovered on Zabini’s broom, naked under a blanket and a multitude of warming charms. Hermione’s teeth chattered as she wondered how her life choices led to her breasts pressed against Blaise’s back, both their wrists dripping blood as they poured a neverending stream of steaming amplifying potions into eight strategically placed holes at the farthest extent of Hogwarts and Founder’s land. The dark forms of Luna, Neville, Theo, Hannah and Ginny flanked them as a guard. Blaise's lips were starting to turn blue. Always to their right were the distant lights of the castle.

They chanted and watched the last hole fill with stone, topped with a rune embedded in the earth. The circle was closed. Once landed, Blaise fumbled with numb fingers to grasp Hermione’s hand. She hesitantly whispered,

“D-did we - did we do it wrong?” He squeezed her hand, not noticing when Theo cast another warming charm or summoned clothing. His heart beat three times.

The sky lit up in near solid golden and silver light. The overlapping layers of runes, wards and arrays briefly blinded all but the casters. It was the sign they had been waiting for, the leylines eagerly attaching to the ancient magic. Then darkness. The flash of light and resulting hum were the only indications they had been successful; days of arithmancy and charms work, careful cultivation of long forgotten plants, bolstered with knowledge fragmented amongst the archives of the Sacred Twenty Eight. Blaise and Hermione both smiled before their eyes rolled back, Theo and Neville rushed forward to catch their bodies before they hit the earth. Under Scottish Wizarding Law and the edicts of Ancient Magic, the secession was complete, Hogwarts was now an independent entity.

 

McGonagall's face was mottled as she struggled to find the words. Severus watched silently from his chair, Hagrid standing behind him. Neither had alerted McGonagall to the strange actions undertaken by their eldest students. None of the strange actions individually had been alarming, yet now in hindsight all lead to an incredible fait accompli.

“This is a direct viol-” Blaise and Hermione stood clothed in thick knitwear, holding hands and trembling but upright. The Slytherin was still ashen from the magical drain of the new wards.

“No, Headmistress McGonagall. You delegated the responsibility of Hogwarts to Madam Pomfrey who delegated in turn to us. You know the Founders never intended for this Sanctuary to be manipulated as it has been in the past.” Hermione continued when his voice went hoarse.

“What’s done is done. The wards are up and sealed. Hogwarts is free from the Ministry, but we still need a leader. Do you accept your new mantle? Or appoint another?” McGonagall pinned the two with a glare.

“And I suppose you think you're suited for the job. We’ve enough power hungry -” Hermione interrupted her Transfiguration professor, a rare occasion in itself.

“Yes, we have had enough power hungry maniacs. Blaise and I have been witness to the consequences. We nominate a council. You, Neville Longbottom, Jonas Grimp as leader of the Forest district, Aberforth Dumbledore as Hogsmeade Mayor, and Adrian Pucey as legal counsel.”

McGonagall gaped as Aberforth Dumbledore stepped forward.

“Aye McGonagall. You in or out? We don't need another millstone 'bout the neck after we've chucked the Ministry. Might get some peace around here.” Aberforth shook hands with the de facto leader of the Forbidden Forest refugee camp, who defiantly stood tall, watching McGonagall through the heavy scar tissue over one eye. Jonas Grimp had survived Fenrir Greyback’s claws to speak for three werewolf packs, two centaur herds, half a dozen giants, several hundred humans and a myriad of other magical beings.

“For however long the Ministry takes before noticing an entire piece of Scotland has vanished.” Neville wisely stayed silent as he held up a copy of the Hogwarts Constitution for Adrian to read, the magical solicitor cross-referencing with a floating giant tome of wizarding law and a parchment roll quickly filling with notes from a self-writing quill. Severus watched his colleague realize she was helpless against this coup. Judging from how organized and complete the takeover was, McGonagall either followed the new winds or was swept away by the tide.

 

The Hogsland Council was formed. Prime Minister Neville Longbottom chosen by default as the least busy of the five, and the slowest in admitting distaste for the position. Realizing he was holding the short end of the stick, Neville protested.

“What about Blaise and Hermione? This was their idea after all.” Theo snorted and continued transfiguring Neville’s clothes into different dress robes.

“You have an Advisor, Junior Assistant and Senior Undersecretary to appoint. Blaise is eligible if you want to appoint him as your Senior Undersecretary. Hermione has enough to do with her apprenticeship.” Neville groaned, and glanced at Blaise and Hermione sitting in front of a blazing fire. They were comparing notes and chatting quietly over their planners about the agriculture branch that would comprise of refugees, a dedicated house-elf, and rotating contingent of students. Could Neville pursue his Herbology mastery if he focused on greenhouse production, maybe if Sprout was willing to be flexible according to his schedule and his public appearances were limited.  

“Fine. Theo -”

“Nope.” He drew out the lip pop with relish. “I’m taking over Potions. Not to worry, we have a list and dossiers for you to review.”

“I still don’t understand why it was me. Blaise could ha-” Theo rolled his eyes. Blaise smirked at his boyfriend before adding notes for a spelled doorway between the Hogsland Minister’s office and the dittany greenhouse, and Hermione expanded on a change room so Neville could swap out ministerial clothing if he was to garden or supervise the farm fields.

“Neither Blaise nor Hermione make good figureheads. They’re good at filtering out crap, planning logistics and getting things done. Rather hard to do when wading through red tape as Minister.”

The to do list in their planners just kept growing: refugee skill categorization, housing solutions for the Forest population, forming a security team for law enforcement, hiring legal assistants to help Pucey create a legal system, and trade tariffs for potions. Blaise was revising potion fee and brewing shift schedules. Hermione was already frowning at Pucey’s edits on their preliminary hierarchy, trying to define what was considered a ‘minor’ dispute to be handled by respective district leaders before being voted on by the Council.

Theo ignored his own planner vibrating noisily on the table with all their changes.

“ _You_ are good looking, relatively clear of scandal, have decent and relatable school scores, male and acceptable to the more sexist leaders, and a pureblood of the Sacred Twenty Eight with sympathies for magical creatures and muggleborns. Effectively, the best distraction while real work continues.” Neville’s jaw dropped. “Please refrain from doing that, Minister. Especially in polite company.”

 

Ginny looked up from comparing her notes with Luna’s, when the blonde touched her arm. The two watched the classroom’s large, framed, self-updating map. Spidery lines slowly inked their way around the markers denoting Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, cursive writing bled in to label the space _Hogsland_. Luna quickly duplicated the new map and added it to their notes. They had used Quick-Quotes Quills while fielding Madam Pomfrey’s questions. Now they were charged with introducing the new Hogsland Council and Territory to the Wizarding World. Hermione popped her head into the classroom they had appropriated.

“How goes it?” She asked the newly designated communications liaisons. “Do you need anything?” Luna smiled distractedly.

“Not yet. Though Adrian might need more calming draught.” Ginny nodded and sliced the parchment with her wand, separating key concepts and sentences to physically move while debating content order.  Hermione coughed, and the redhead looked up to see her nod her head towards the door. In the hallway, Hermione quietly asked,

“Is Harry aware of what you’re doing?” Ginny smiled at the question.

“He knows I took a position as communications liaison for a Council. Specifically that I’m the Hogsland Public Relations Representative? Well, no one outside knows about Hogsland yet, and he didn’t seem all that interested while packing for his next trip. Then Ron barged in.” Hermione nodded. It had been hard to be the third wheel to Ron and Harry’s friendship, she couldn’t conceive how Ginny so confidently navigated the minefield of her marriage with her brother blundering in. Ginny twirled her hair up with her wand, then went back to arguing with Luna on where to place legal verbiage Adrian insisted on being included in their first press release. Hermione spelled the door from prying students, curious about last night’s lightshow and consequent flurry of activity, then trotted on to receive an update from Neefa on the status of the house-elves.


	6. Continuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogsland goes public. 
> 
> Beta read thanks to Tanguera! Reviews are very much appreciated!

They had a stroke of luck. It was two weeks before someone in the media noticed a self-updating map had rearranged its boundaries around a small piece of Scotland, and was now labelled Hogsland. By then they had the Quibbler release an exclusive edition detailing the new Hogsland boundaries, council, contacts, immigration and trade laws. The renovations on the Shrieking Shack were largely finished when a frenzy of reporters descended upon the gates of the expanded cottage holding the Hogsland Council Offices with an attached wing for the designated Ministry of Magic consulate. Luna sighed as she watched the anti-Apparition wards bounce bodies back from landing at Hogwarts’ gates to the separate entrance and waiting room of the MoM consulate. She stood patiently at the podium in front of the empty offices and two conference rooms.

“Now, if you refer to the Quibbler Hogsland Edition page two paragraph four. Apparition and access is prohibited past Hogsmeade unless you hold Hogsland citizenry, or have been personally vouched for by a permanent Hogsland citizen. Students attending Hogwarts only hold temporary citizenship for the duration of their education until they seek residency or employment.” The resulting roar of redundant questions made her wonder if there wasn’t a mutant infestation of Nargles that stole brains. They had spent hours with Pucey, meticulously writing the Hogsland Quibbler, which contained all the answers to their questions clearly indicating their literary skills. Another question. “Page three paragraph six.” Luna watched several reporters sneak out the door to round the house.

Ginny stood at the Hogsland podium, with a security officer standing politely two steps back to her right. The wards were set to prevent wily photographers from breaking past the lobby, presumably to run up two flights of stairs to the Minister’s Office on the third floor. She hoped Neville wasn’t planning on making a break for it, by the tunnel in the basement back to the Whomping Willow.

“Any additional enquiries not addressed by the Hogsland edition of the Quibbler may be forwarded by post or Floo to the following addresses.” As if summoned, Neville trotted along a balcony towards the elevator, but staggered back as he was momentarily blinded by the camera flashes. He quickly stepped into a random office and blinked rapidly, knowing he was staring at a taupe wall but his flash-fried eyeballs insisted on adding strange designs and colours. He heard a house-elf pop that sounded like Neefa. He felt a leathery hand cover his eye briefly.

“Missy SPEW ask me to fetch youse. She thought you would want a visit.” The hand lifted and Neville breathed a sigh of relief, he wasn’t permanently colour-blinded. “Missy SPEW also asked Neefa to give this.” The house-elf placed a caramel into his hand, which Neville promptly popped into his mouth, then hooked a finger into the crook of his elbow to apparate them across town. He felt the calming draught kick in and upon arrival, his new Senior Undersecretary shoved a butterbeer into his hand. Blaise retook his seat at the poker table set up in Flume’s office. Theo gestured at the empty chair as Flume shuffled and Snape set out chips. Neville could see the dark swarm of media on the hill, shifting at the entrances of the former Shrieking Shack. Flume dealt.

“Minister Longbottom, Blaise has informed me of your abysmal poker face. We need to remedy your affliction with haste. I speak from my experience as a successful entrepreneur, and Severus of course with his previous occupation as a spy.” Blaise picked up his cards and cleared his throat before addressing Theo, clearly continuing a conversation.

“I can only think that Jonas delegated the task to someone else, the construction supply order was severely underestimated. And now -” Blaise made his bet. “Whatever order we submit has been on standby until the Ministry signs or responds to the proposed trade laws.”

 

Below the office, Hermione was stirring a large cauldron of clear fluid. She stood beside the returned Neefa, who was squeaking out orders of the day to her grand-niece dutifully taking notes. Enormous baking mould sheets laid out on the counter in front of them, carefully spelled with uniform food colouring as Neefa had instructed by elf magic and adapted to wizard wand techniques. With a wand sweep, Hermione directed the cauldron to pour the agar gel into the moulds. After a few swishes and flicks to cool, the sheets flipped neatly. Hermione smiled at the pretty gelatin cakes. The colouring depicted  a weeping willow tree by a water bank. A distractingly creative antipyretic to cool fevers, and deliver a vitamin punch warding off quick symptom return once the gelatin cake lost its immediate effects. Neefa inspected both batches carefully and huffed.

“Missy SPEW must take out extra flick, colour off. Darker. And temperature five degrees too high, good but not best wiggle.” Hermione quickly made notes in her spelled private recipe book.

“And the effects? How do you think they differ?”

“Taste same. Feel same. More heat and won't keep shape. Missy SPEW test acid please.”

Hermione used her ph meter to measure Neefa’s control batch then her own.

“Hmm, yes there is pH drift from overheating as well. Thank you Neefa, I think another two batches will perfect the technique.”

“Good. Neefa has list Missy SPEW requested of house-elves.” Neefa’s grand-niece dutifully placed a thick scroll into Hermione’s hastily wiped hands. The gryffindor’s eyes flitted over the summarized number of elves categorized by specialty, all of them displaced or abandoned after their masters or households were destroyed. Neefa had broached the concern haltingly, but after much coaxing Hermione and Blaise had discovered that there was no actual oversight being provided by the department supposedly responsible. Hermione switched books, and magicked the scroll into her planner.

“Do you think Winky would be amenable in offering employment to all of them?” Neefa nodded gravely.

“Winky knows pain of being freed. Neefa also has map.” Hermione finished her notes, while Neefa’s grand-niece also wrote on her clipboard before stepping forward with another scroll. Hermione studied the magical map marking coloured dots throughout the forest. “Many trees dying, bowtruckles need new homes. If not cleaned, forest will burn.” Hermione shifted and uncovered the legend in the corner identifying the most dangerous to needing monitoring.  Her planner opened another section as she added the map, asking Hagrid to oversee the tree replacement and removal, with Grawp and selected Forester refugees experienced in the area. The fire hazard was indeed high, but Blaise would be pleased with the unexpected wood supply that could be used until their construction supply orders were delivered. Hogsmeade residents would be delighted to use the unusable pieces for heating. Her notes changed to add Luna’s elegant handwriting, suggesting her pixies would provide the sparkle and a pack of nifflers could dig the holes for any tree planting crew unable to use magic. Hagrid had Fang but there was at least one other refugee whose magic was too volatile to reliably plant a tree, without blowing up or setting fire to any nearby.

 

It took several games, but Severus was relieved that Longbottom’s incompetence in the potions lab did not crossover to political subterfuge. The distraction of Blaise and Theo’s constantly vibrating planners tested the Minister’s ability of selective awareness. The two younger slytherins had grinned at the latest entry. Theo bet and muttered, “Trust Neefa to solve it.” Blaise nodded and added notes to Pucey on drafting timber acquisition laws, then grinning at the less than polite answer to go fuck himself.

“I think Adrian will need more headache and Pepper-Up potion, Sir.” Snape snorted.

“Instead of courting overdose, he needs to decide on who will be his fourth assistant. But on that note, I should check on the potions downstairs.” He drawled with a gleam in his eye, “I may not return.” Flume hid a smile behind a tumbler of firewhiskey and folded.

Severus floated himself and his wheelchair down the stairs into his half of the potions lab, where several cauldrons stood simmering in various stages. He could brew this batch of potions in his sleep, automatically adding ingredients and bottling finished products, all the while watching Hermione flutter from one cauldron to the next taking notes. When he finished, he wheeled through the spelled air barrier and waited for her to set the pen down before pinching her bottom. She squealed,

“Severus!” Neefa snorted then disappeared with a pop.

Severus pulled Hermione into his lap, floated them out of the lab to the fireplace,and Flooed  to his quarters at Hogwarts to work on their latest potion journal critiques. He took a few kisses as payment for transportation.

 

McGonagall massaged her temples. Her pile of mail had dramatically quadrupled upon her published status as one-fifth of the Hogsland Council. Currently, there was a hold on any immigration applications for the next year while the housing and employment situation was sorted out. Already, she had a stack of over fifty letters requesting new citizenship in the first month of Hogsland existence. They hadn't even voted on their flag yet, for heaven’s sake. An enormous wheeled box by the door contained neutralized daily arriving Howlers. All with the same contents:  They were treasonous. Traitors. How could they abandon the children? A little harnessed kneazle padded quietly into her office, an owl fluttering down to perch on the box of Howlers, and trotted out with the magically lightened box pulled behind it by a cord. Ginny had the repetitive task of sending a politely worded note in response with an information brochure. Even a few patronuses had shown up, responded to by Neville and Hannah, as Theo and Adrian were all for just ignoring the wispy animals.

The transfiguration professor signed the letter informing her stand-in that the position was now permanently his. Minerva was just too busy trying to show that standards at Hogwarts were actually rising, she had just convinced the international Confederation of Wizards that the students weren’t affected in the slightest, transitioning from one magical community to the new Hogsland territory each year. She pulled out two bottles of red ink, and settled in to edit the several scrolls of parchment that would detail the benefits of field experience with an embedded apprenticeship and exchange program. It was rather refreshing to act, instead of waiting for whatever power struggle amongst governors to finish before  a decision could be made.

 

Aberforth finished his rounds. Meeting with the local residents and proprietors, speaking with them on their concerns. He found their reserved booth in the Three Broomsticks and ignored the pop of his knees, as he took his seat across from Jonas Grimp. The man was already halfway through a butterbeer. “Dumbledore.”

“Grimp. Any problems with the Foresters?”

“Wards are holding. Meaders doing alright?”

“Two new bed and breakfasts starting up, property value on the rise, wards holding on our end, all’s good.” The two nodded over their drinks. Savoring the silence for a few moments before bending over the map Jonas had out, to discuss placement of a new rows of cottages in Hogsmeade. It would ideally cross the boundaries so residents could use the wards on half their home, and essentially make the backyard or kitchen an impromptu safe haven from non-Hogsland intruders. Hogsland law enforcement reported several Ministry curse-breakers wandering around the edges of Hogsmeade unsuccessfully testing the wards’ outer perimeter. Those with actual knowledge of the Sacred Twenty Eight grimoires were quiet, most likely frantically researching the original spells and untangling the modifications.

The array of intertwining magic were layers of modifications devised from unspecifically questioning Flitwick, advice from Neefa on loopholes goblins and house elves used to complete their tasks, in depth conversations with past headmasters and founder portraits, and various comparisons between wards of significant public institutions to the Fidelius or Unplottable. Flitwick and Minerva had been staggered by the amount of power and detail, the Charms professor had twittered himself into an exhausted state the first thirty six hours trying to diagram the work. However, the other residents behind the wards merely shrugged and went back to business. The proprietors of Hogsmeade had obeyed with alacrity to warnings at the town hall meeting, to lock down supplier and vendor contracts. They even welcomed the added business and possible employee pool of the refugees in the Forest district. It was through much coordination between their leaders that the Foresters and the Meaders were cohabiting and expanding, rather than fighting amongst themselves.


	7. Syncopation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kingsley and his Ministry of Magic contingent meet their Hogsland counterparts to discuss their future. A peek into Hogwarts curriculum. The next crisis.
> 
> Beta read thanks to Tanguera!
> 
> Notes at the end. Reviews are very much appreciated.

Historically, newly established magical territories found themselves at a disadvantage to negotiating tariffs, trade and any interchange between existing communities. Kingsley noted that the Hogsland contingent seemed incredibly at ease. Six quiet and somber witches and wizards, features charmed indistinguishable, dressed in dark uniforms smoothly exited the fireplace and fanned out. Hogsland's Minister, Legal Counsel and Undersecretary arrived shortly after. Kingsley noted an intensity in their guards' gazes but the three men strolled past aurors to shake his hand without a sign of anxiety. He noted there was always one dark guard at a time moving their fingers in discrete sign language, and another's lips moving without sound. Kingsley made a mental note to find out from where Hogsland was sourcing their law enforcement and security, the reports on the HLE did not accurately describe the silent grace he was witnessing. Later, he would be dismayed to hear only rumours that the contingent was a hodge podge of battle hardened war veterans. Neville and Severus had held a brutal training camp, with all the combat ready individuals the combined contacts of the Hogsland Council could muster. Former Dumbledore's Army, Death Eaters and refugees were all held under voluntary Unbreakable Vows upon entering the service, which guaranteed Hogsland citizenship and safety to their families.

The opening proposals for import and export tariffs, restrictions, and immigration/emigration had been sent over in advance; the giant vicious owl snapped at his secretary's fingers until he was present to relieve it of the weightless charmed wooden box. So before the Hogsland contingent had arrived, Kingsley felt fully prepared with the stack of counter offers, at least until they reached the sitting room. Undersecretary Blaise and Solicitor Pucey looked around, then briskly transfigured the coffee table and two wingback chairs into a serviceable long desk and backed stools. Prime Minister Longbottom perched on the arm of the remaining loveseat, and watched the horrified facial expressions on Kingsley's secretary and advisor, as Blaise and Adrian promptly ripped through all the proposed changes with dripping red quills. They muttered to each other while scribbling, "Look here, you would think they at least remembered the thirty-seventh revision to their own constitution."

"Merlin, they obviously didn't consult Percy Weasley or he'd have a conniption over this mess."

"This sounds too much like segregation. It's like they never learn." Blaise set down his quill after the last page, returned the chairs and table back to their original form, and chugged a cup of tea while Pucey cracked his back.

"No offense intended, Kingsley. But we thought the proposal we sent over was rather reasonable." The Ministry of Magic Undersecretary spluttered.

"Reasonable? You erected the wards and declared yourself separate, you don't get to have all the benefits without consequences."

"Yes. That is true. We thought it was reasonable. You see, we're self sufficient. As is, we don't really need anything desperately from the rest of the British magical community. We just wanted to be civil and set out clear boundaries for the sake of the children. They need a school, and not all parents can afford to send their child to another respectable institution of the International Confederation of Wizards. It would be a dire situation if they had to resort to less esteemed, less regulated and for-profit schools when we are still offering tuition-free education, provided our governments work past the minor details."

"Where the Ministry still pays the expense!"

"You will notice that the expense is much lower per child, almost half of last year's cost."

"I'm concerned of the apprenticeship proposition, the students would obviously have preferential bias on positions in Hogsland if they start apprenticeships before graduation."

"Competition always breeds excellence, and the Confederation has already approved the program. The students are not restricted, in fact their employment opportunities are greatly expanded. They leave Hogwarts with practical field experience that is invaluable."

It was hours later, when Neville shook the hand of a stunned Kingsley, politely ignoring the tears welling in the MoM Undersecretary's eyes.

"Hogsland wasn't created to oppose the Ministry. We have other priorities." Kingsley heard the unspoken 'other than your stupid campaigns.' "Primarily, taking care of our own."

The majority of the initial proposal had been agreed upon and signed with a few concessions that were actually rather piddly, all which didn't affect Hogsland priorities anyways. Kingsley felt as if he had greatly overestimated his position when the Hogsland representatives left, and thanked Merlin they were keeping the currency.

 

Agriculture Day, combined Herbology and Care of Creatures Class, Fourth Year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs.

"I'm not going anywhere near those chickens." A towheaded boy rolled his eyes at his partner, then kept dragging the tub of shavings closer.

"Then I'll inform the elves that you don't wish to have eggs for breakfast." The blonde girl turned to gasp at the professor.

"You can't do that!"

"Where do you think your eggs for the last two months have been coming from? Or the chicken you eat for dinner?" The shadow of his wide brimmed hat didn't hide the amused smirk surrounded by deep laugh lines, and the girl bristled.

"I don't know and I don't care, the elves do all the shopping."

"Well, at Hogwarts which is now in Hogsland, the elves don't do the shopping. They use the eggs, meat and manure from these chickens to fertilize plants for your food. Ms. Carruthers, all that is required is for you to levitate the chickens from one pen to the other, so Mr. Trent can banish the shavings into the compost heap, put down a new layer, then you levitate the chickens back. You are nowhere near the chickens. It's a half-hour process, and then you do the same with the rabbit hutches." The girl drew breath to retort when her partner hissed,

"Roxy shut up and just do it! I don't want to muck out the cattle pens, the goats bite!"

"I assure you Mr. Trent, eventually the cattle rotation will come to you once more before you graduate from Hogwarts. Perhaps you two could assist me with lambing, if chickens and rabbits are not to your taste." Benji Trent quickly covered Roxy's mouth with his hand.

"No, no Professor Bakewell. We are happy to do chickens and rabbits."

"Oh, well, then I'll make sure you have them for the class next week as well."

The professor walked away, whistling as his rubber boots squeaked on the wet grass. Roxy grumbled at Benji, "I wish we were fifth years, then we could just harvest plants and apply rapid growth charms." Benji glared at her.

"Didn't you hear from Lucy? They switched the fifth and sixth years. They have bean and aquaponics duty! You hate beans and they have to chop up worms for the fish!"

"Ewww!"

"Then the sixth years have bees and orchards."

"We're supposed to be here to learn, not as slave labour." Benji snorted.

"Speak for yourself. I'm learning loads. Da says one of the best brewmasters is a Forester, I already asked to be his apprentice."

"Well, I don't want to be an apprentice!"

"No one's making you! I'm gonna be someone Hogsland wants. No one wants a girl that just whines all day. Now leviosa those chickens already."

 

Theo didn't bother knocking on Hannah's door and leaned against the doorjamb as the Minister of Hogsland scrambled to find his pants. Hannah gracefully stood up and wiped the corners of her lips with her thumb.

"Sorry to interrupt, Abbott, but Grimp is reporting a bout of fevers amongst the Forester children. I've already prioritized our potion load with the brewing team, but they're advising that if it's the same bug that is sweeping through the rest of St. Mungo's to prepare for pneumonia and possible seizures."

"Merlin, just when we were starting to clear beds. We won't have nearly enough room or staff, Poppy's finally taken time off! Did they say if it was viral or bacterial?" Theo and Neville followed the mediwitch out at a trot, watching as cots were unfolded from cabinets, and assembled from wooden crates that had been left till someone had time. Theo gestured to open doors off the hallway, that had not been there yesterday.

"No,but I've already attached several regulated tents to address the space issue, and adjusted the wards to monitor and automatically quarantine and transfer anyone with symptoms here. Severus and Hermione are assisting the brewing team, and there's a new Madam Garner product specifically for fevers. Flume has agreed to forego the usual two weeks of marketing to address the need." Neville nodded, combing his hair back with one hand.

"And did you inform the HLE of the quarantine requirements? We need to step up security. There will be more activity, especially when we have our own brewing capabilities and the best Potions Master in England."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert Bakewell was a British agriculturist considered by some to be the father of animal husbandry.
> 
> I understand that tariff negotiations would not usually be settled within a month much less a day, however, the premise of Hogsland is acting in the interests of moving forward with the materials one has.
> 
> If you haven't realized from previous chapters, my grasp of literary time is fluid at best. The line breaks could be minutes or months, please let me know if you see something that doesn't make sense.


	8. Ramification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disease spreads and relationships are tested as anxiety rises. Harry is confronted by his wife and Molly Weasley crosses the Hogsland wards.
> 
> Beta read thanks to Tanguera! Reviews are very much appreciated.

The flu ran rampant through the British Wizarding World. The Continent reacted swiftly to the rising numbers of hospitalized and closed its borders, in an effort to protect their already war-decimated populations from the disease. Hogsland stockpiled their potions, tending to the little Foresters that fell ill first. The anxiety high as reports from beyond the wards started to include fatalities. Aberforth and Grimp pushed their construction teams hard, trying to complete shelters to house either people sick or protect the healthy from falling ill. The HLE trained and reinforced their security measures, expecting everything from nothing to full-scale attack.

"I don't understand it." Hannah ended the spell taking the temperature of the two-year-old Forester curled up with her five-year-old brother. The mediwitch handed the plate of VitaGel uneaten back to Hermione. "Their fevers have broken." Hermione frowned.

"That's a good thing. Why aren't you happy?"

"No, I'm happy. But _all_ their fevers have broken. It's just a normal flu. Fever, chest congestion, but no escalation like pneumonia in the Ministry reports. Nothing close to the intensity that would cause so many complications and deaths outside of Hogsland." Hermione glanced over at the wall of crated potions that she, Severus and the brewing team had produced. "We don't even need the stockpile, the illness has hit almost everyone in some form, you had a running nose yourself a few days ago. The scans say it was the same thing." The mediwitch threw up her hands. "It doesn't make any sense!"

 

St. Mungo's received the crates of potions with gratitude but it wasn't long before suspicions arose. Didn't Hogsland need these themselves? Speculation ran amongst the healing staff, overheard by anxious family members and spread like wildfire. The media battered the Council Offices, and when it was confirmed there were no deaths, soon the populace pushed the reporters aside, yelling questions at anyone within sight. People came to Hogsland, until groups were pressed up against the wards from the flood of witches and wizards, children caught against legs and the surge of bodies. All begging to be let in, screaming questions and accusations. How could Hogsland be untouched? Was this some biological weapon? Won't they just take the children?

Blaise, Hermione and Severus looked out from the balcony, safely disillusioned from the crowds. Hermione's hand gripped tightly in her lover's. The crowd-control spells were the only safeguard against people being trampled or crushed. The Meaders had retreated past the ward boundaries or requested extra spells be cast by the HLE, and the shopkeepers had closed their doors against the horde. The brewing team had given one person the continued responsibility of churning out amplifying potions for regular ward reinforcement by the HLE night shift. They had laid preparations for Hogsland's complete isolation upon formation, but it was still a frightening sight to see hundreds upon hundreds of people forego dignity and bodily throwing themselves against their walls.

Hermione, Flume, Neefa and Severus couldn't produce VitaGel or brew potions fast enough to accommodate the demand. Every evening the WWN read out the latest numbers of ill and dead, and each morning the Daily Prophet reported those that didn't make the night. Hermione could see the lack of sleep in Severus' face. Whatever progress her lover had made in building up the muscle in his legs had deteriorated with the shift in attention to the flu. While Hermione missed the physical attention, it was still a comfort having him close and well, even if he was barking out orders and swearing at his lack of grace in the chair. She had given up her room to Adrian Pucey, who was handing off his clients, and very much earning his retainer. Despite his frequent growling, any other solicitor wouldn't find as much joy fending off the weight of encroaching inked parchment. Severus had pushed her to just give the man a dedicated office already, banished her clothes to his extended walk-in closet, and treated the matter as settled. Hermione didn't have the heart to point out her willingness to share his quarters, he was a generous lover more comfortable in demonstrating than discussing his affection. The night before was evidence of that.

"Dear heart." Hermione froze. Severus only used that pet name when he was about to climax, usually when she was near mindless, or under cover of darkness when he thought her asleep. Hermione instantly set down her planner and gave him her full attention, which he barely registered unable to meet her gaze. "You aren't feeling… neglected, are you?" At first, she was puzzled. Neglected over what? They had been running around trying to meet the demands of the sick British Wizarding population, and researching… oh. She tried to count the days since they last engaged in any contact further than kisses in greeting, and couldn't remember.

"No, Severus. I didn't even think of it. We've both been run ragged, and you're still in the middle of recuperating." Only then was he able to meet her gaze with a hint of a blush, curtly nod and turn back to his medical potions text. Hermione's lips quirked up and she pressed a firm kiss to his temple before starting another strong pot of tea for them to share. "Don't misunderstand, I expect a proper shag once this mess is sorted." Her slytherin snorted,

"Of course."

 

Harry Potter, Saviour of the British Wizarding World, watched his young wife. She was beautiful, posture straight, impeccably dressed, and face composed. Except for a single tear, as the Howler he had hand-delivered from her mother alternated between angry shrieks and sobbing. Her remaining brothers were dying, Fleur, Victoire and Louis had also fallen to the sickness. Molly's own voice crackled from obvious mucus buildup. The Weasley matriarch ended with,

"I expected more from you, please don't forsake your family this way. What will you tell your own children?" Harry winced at that. He and Ginny had still been arguing on the subject of children before he had left on his latest hunt. Although he was unsure about having his own, producing babies was the next step in happy marriages. Harry was so happy with Ginny, and terrified that he would cock it all up. She turned slowly to him after the Howler disintegrated.

"Do you love me?" His face fell, and ice swallow his heart.

"Of course I love you, Ginny. How can you even ask that?"

"You always do what's expected of you. When we married, your vows were to _me_ , not any other person." Ginny took his hand. "Would you still love me if it was just me? If it was only ever the two of us, until death do us part?" Harry felt the dam of ice break. He fervently breathed,

"Yes." He enveloped her hand in both of his. "Yes, my love." The hardness in her eyes made Harry swallow.

"Chasing at shadows of the bogeyman doesn't stop the actual monster from visiting our door. You and Ron were a distraction while the Ministry worked behind the curtain. Are you my husband or an idiotic distraction?" She knew his answer before it left Harry's lips, for Ginny Potter had the tempered steel of Hogsland's foundation threading through her vertebrae. It was time her husband toed the line. "Do you even like being an Auror?"

 

It was Grimp that figured it out. The sweat slowly cooling on his body, mouth still pressed against Luna's shoulder. She was also out of breath but her mind tended to wander after orgasm, and he didn't mind her chattering out ideas while her legs still wrapped his hips. The tone of her voice usually slowed down his brain to lull him into content sleep, or made him randy for another go. His eyes were starting to feel gummy, when he finally processed what she had just said. He sat up.

"Lune, repeat what you just said." The blonde obediently rattled off her last sentence.

"The wards must have balanced Voldemort's energy, the pixies and gnomes outside Hogsland are much more restless." Grimp groaned then got out of the warm bed and started pulling on clothes. He was set to have a nap, then maybe sneak in another romp before duties called him back. Merlin's bollocks.

"C'mon love. Think I figured out the whole caboodle. Send a patronus for the council won't you?"

When they had everyone in Hog's Head Inn, Aberforth allowed a series of Scourgifys with a scowl. Grimp explained and watched as Blaise ran a hand over his face, and Flitwick sag in relief.

"Energy imbalance. The Great Git died; there's energy, without direction. Wards had to do with leylines, right? So leylines sucked it back up,but only for Hogsland. Regular flu for us, but excess magic for them. Explains wonky scans. Energy's burning 'em up inside out."

That evening, Kingsley shivered under a blanket. Besides the quilt he was wrapped in, the Minister for Magic was naked as he was born, blood trickled down from the cut on his hand into a bowl hewn in the stone of the floor. Instead of closing the borders with multiple rune-points, the desired effect from the leylines was to radiate from the center of British Wizarding Power. He just wished there weren't so many cameras taking pictures of his knobby knees sticking out from the blanket, as he completed the leyline balancing ritual, with the Floo fires open to strategic locations to take advantage of the amplified effects. No more would fall ill, but the sick were still weakened and at risk of complications.

 

Ron Weasley was not concerned when he woke up in a place he didn't immediately recognize. It was starting to be habitual, though the surroundings were considerably brighter and cleaner than what he was used to. Right, he got sick. Seated at his bedside, flipping through a dusty tome a touch bigger than her torso, was Hermione Granger. He tried to sit up and she looked up at the movement. Hermione sent off her otter patronus and stood to leave without uttering a single word to him. Ron croaked out,

"Wait!" He had to get this out before his mum appeared. Hermione turned back. "I know we've been on the outs 'Mione. But can we start again?" Hermione smiled that polite media smile she had developed shortly after the battle.

"Just concentrate on getting better, Ron."

"I'd feel better if you had dinner with me, once Pomfrey lets me out." Hermione's jaw dropped, he wasn't sure what that expression meant, but his insides seemed to get heavier.

"I - well - I can't Ron." His face started turning red. Hermione couldn't believe she had completely forgotten to tell anyone outside of Hogsland about her and Snape, probably because everyone who really mattered was on her side of the wards. "I'm with someone." Ron didn't get a chance to ask who, when Madame Pomfrey and Hannah Abbott surged in.

 

Fleur watched her children play with the young Foresters. The Plague had whittled them all down. There was a new sharpness in her British family, absent with those who had escaped to France. It was with sadness the Frenchwoman realized this was the freest she had seen her youngest. Victoire and Dominique were learned experts in escaping their moody paternal grandmother, while Louis had a wariness exclusively for Molly Weasley. Bill would not leave the children with his mother, unless he was sure Arthur would be present to counter the simmering anger. Ginny had pulled strings to allow her family into the Hogsland Hospital Wing, until they gained enough strength to leave by their own power. Fleur was the first to find her feet, then her children, and all eager to escape from the hovering of the frantic Weasley matriarch. The quarter veela was left at odds only briefly before Minerva McGonagall firmly suggested the pre-Hogwarts day camp, where Fleur now helped Cariana Flume, Andromeda Tonks and Harry Potter handle the children whose parents convalesced from the Plague at St. Mungo's.

Fleur had been surprised to find her brother-in-law deftly changing diapers and studying nutritional guides, but was also surprised to see Harry smile so often with ease. His godson was delighted to see him everyday, and the tension between the Potters had evaporated. It was a reversal of traditional gender roles, and didn't warrant the outpouring of rage Molly had over Ginny pursuing her career and Harry giving up his auror position. Especially, as Ginny's career was the only reason the Weasley family was receiving such attentive medical care. Arthur and Ron started tracking Molly's every move to serve as a buffer after the initial embarrassing outburst on the scandalous nature of Hermione and Snape, conveniently forgetting the daily delivery of potions which pulled her sons, daughter-in-law and grandchildren from the brink of death.

"Oh, just shut it already!" The sharp gasp was the chance Ron took to push Ginny and Harry out the door. He hadn't want to believe it, his Mum had been both a force and anchor, until she went mental. "Merlin, I can't believe she said all that shite. You don't believe any of it, do you?" Ginny had moisture welling in her eyes, but no tears fell. Even Harry's hair was flat with dejection.

"She wouldn't say it unless she meant some of it." Ron slashed his hands through the air.

"No. Harry, no. None of that made sense and you need to know that everyone else is behind you one hundred percent. Seeing you now, you weren't nearly this happy on our auror hunts." There were two clicks of the door as Arthur come through the door to lean against it, his weary eyes resting on his two youngest.

"It's true, Harry. You have every right to pursue what makes you and Ginny happy. Unfortunately, it comes at a time that we can no longer deny the truth." Ginny still stood straight and silent. Harry clutched her hand. "I gave her some of those caramels."

"I don't understand, Arthur." Ron sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I might not get it, but Snape and 'Mione don't deserve what she's been saying. Neither do you. We think Mum needs to see a mind-healer. Her mood swings were really bad before the Plague. Now? We're scared to leave her by herself. I'm really sorry you're getting the brunt of it." Arthur took his daughter's free hand.

"We'll get her right as rain. Your mum just needs a little help."


	9. Affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Plague crisis has been quelled and healing comes in different forms. Hermione and Severus reach new levels in their relationship, and happily ever after isn't really the end.
> 
> Beta read thanks to Tanguera!
> 
> Reviews are very much appreciated. I have also added a few plot points that never made it into the chapters of Spoonful to the notes at the end!

The demand for Hogsland help from the British Wizarding World resulted in a strange increase in media exposure, leading to unwanted celebrity status for Minister Longbottom. All the other wizarding communities took notice of the judicious handling of the Second War Plague, and were starting negotiations and discussions with the new country. Neville was developing a reputation of giving interesting if not rare herbological gifts to his counterparts, and being a quiet leader adept at reading body language. Every Forester and Meader had a warm and dry place to sleep, and were employed to contribute to Hogsland. The brewing team was starting to keep normal business hours for potions export, and several had joined the production team for the ever-growing Madam Garner's Spoonful of Sugar product line. The updating planners seemed to give alerts at a more sedate and routine pace, enough for Blaise to fall ill with a hacking cough and sleep in for a week without incident. Theo filled in, until his partner recovered, and then catching the cold himself with a bonus of bronchitis. Snape simply poured vitamin potions into the teapot every morning, and herding Hermione around with his wheelchair away from anyone with symptoms.

 

 

Molly Weasley groaned as her therapist and mind-healer pulled out the dreaded paints. She had always been pants at painting and the therapist insisted on using them every week. The potions she took after each session were starting to produce a noticeable effect. She had noticed the decrease in arguments with her children, and Arthur had stopped disappearing for long periods of time into his shed. It was a bit of a shock when Molly realized she hadn't begged her children to visit for dinner since the first week of potions, or that she wasn't always exhausted like before the Plague. The mind-healer and therapist were still adjusting her dosages to coordinate with her changing hormones; but for the first time since as far as she could remember, Molly had moments of happiness she didn't have to fake.

 

 

Hermione sometimes hated brainstorming with Neefa. The house-elf was swift and curt in her judgement, and would not elaborate unless prodded, but every suggestion was given due process if only in a lightning moment. Currently, they were working on the best way to mass produce a new hydrating gum product, possibly with a few refugees as employees and some muggle equipment. If Honeydukes needed to have an expansion facility added, what was the current workload of the Hogwarts elves? How many elves would they need to hire? They were already halfway through the list, was there a need to update it?

There was a trill from her planner, Hermione frowned, her wand didn't have a timer on and her brewing shift didn't start until tomorrow. What could possibly cause an alert? She put away her recipes and dug out the thick leather planner. The date glowed, First day of NEWT studying. She laughed at her year younger self. NEWTs seemed such a far and away concern. Yet it did pose problems as most of the brewing team, Pomfrey's assistant, the Minister of Hogsland, the Undersecretary and a communications liaison would need studying time. Severus could take over the brewing responsibilities with several evaluated students or citizens. If they chose to stay, more bodies wouldn't hurt the shifts and allow sick days and vacations. A house elf and citizen could cover for Luna, and help Ginny keep the response time down between automatic replies and follow-up. After the initial overwhelming influx, the Floo and owl mail were now defaulted to

_The Communications Office of Hogsland appreciates your interest, please know that if your communique requires more in-depth response, a staff member will send correspondence as soon as possible. Thank you._

Hermione made sure to note that the Minister and Undersecretaries schedules needed to be cleared. "Severus, would you please arrange for help in brewing from the sixth years or a citizen? NEWTs will leave us quite short-staffed."

"Pomfrey, please be advised that NEWTs studying will decrease peripheral Hospital Wing hours for Hannah and the brewing team. Jonas may be able to suggest a few citizens."

It was understood that relations with the Ministry were rocky even after saving their world from an energy induced plague, rescheduling of any standard exams would not be looked on favorably without extreme cause. Like a terrorist group destroying the school and the need to clear 80 dead bodies from the grounds, Hermione thought wryly.

She left the kitchens after packing the prototypes up to be sent to Flume for inspection with a copy of her notes, thanked Neefa and left. She made sure there wasn't anything pressing left to delegate, then rolled her neck. It was time for a vacation, and studying for NEWTs was as convenient as any staycation, she paused and switched her mindset. Surely she would have to visit a therapist later. But for now, she switched from survival pragmatist Hermione Granger to studious perfectionist Hermione Granger. She found Luna, Theo and a member of the brewing team flipping through textbooks at the mismatch table sitting on duplicated stools. Other students in the newly restocked library chose the new tables and chairs. Those in the thick of Hogsland's formation seemed to prefer the section that still bore singe marks; the darker wood was the last indication of the repaired charred flooring, and scent wisps of fire still invaded at odd moments. The break in the flooring almost served as a barrier, the younger students either respecting their study space or fearing physical manifestation of their power. The other two scorched tables had elongated legs or wadded pieces of paper wedged under the supposedly wobbly support. Hermione smiled to herself. Trust them to gravitate towards fixing the broken, rather than using the new.

Not any surprise that they passed their NEWTs with ease, in the grand scheme of things, they had already used all the tested curriculum in a practical aspect. Hermione and Blaise tied for across the board Outstandings, yet both only took a moment to read their results in satisfaction, before rushing off to sort out the four dragons British wizards had encouraged to wander into Hogsland territory.

 

 

"Well, Severus. I was getting a bit worried there, during the Plague. You weren't taking as much care." Pomfrey held out a light ash crook cane, watching the potions master curl his lip in disgust. "The weakness in your left leg will only cure with time and regular exercise." Snape took the cane gingerly and nodded, before sweeping away as gracefully as his left leg would allow. The tap against stone gave students in the halls a rabbit-like demeanor. They would freeze, scan for the sound source, then scramble away. Severus sighed, so much for stealth in night-time patrols. He reached the door of his quarters and sniffed the air delicately. The familiar scent of potion residue, vanilla and sugar meant Hermione was ensconced inside. The slytherin smiled minutely before entering. Severus found her curled up on the loveseat, editing their latest potion journal critique. Hermione noticed the lack of wheelchair and beamed.

"That's wonderful! But that doesn't match, may I see?" The ash accoutrement landed in Hermione's hands, and Severus watched her place it aside. She rummaged around at the side of the couch, and pulled out a plain but elegant, silver handled and tipped, black walking stick. The polished wood gleamed sinisterly in the firelight as he took it from her and a pleased quirk of his lips was her only warning. Severus waved their clothes to the wingback chair with a brisk sweep of his wand, and knelt on the plush carpet to throw her knees over his shoulders. Her gasps and moans were the perfect soundtrack to his tongue sliding through her folds, searching for honey to slake his thirst. It wasn't long before he felt her walls flutter with her impending release, and her fingers through his hair started tugging. Hermione wailed as he added a third finger to his strokes and his tongue swirled faster around her clit. She could feel her toes curling before she slammed into a wall of bliss. Severus' eyes glittered as he inspected the panting mess of witch speared on his fingers.

"I have been instructed to partake in regular exercise. You don't have any objections in helping me, do you?" He didn't wait for an answer before levitating her to the bedroom, confident that Blaise would ensure no interruptions after he vaguely instructed the younger slytherin to not bother them till Thursday.

Hermione felt sore and sticky and absolutely wonderful. Her head propped up by Severus' shoulder, his long calloused fingers randomly rubbing her back gently while she straddled his lap. They had made love all of yesterday and this morning. It was rare that they weren't interrupted for so long, and she was able to enjoy his single-minded focus. The smell of bergamot made Hermione push back hair from her face. The tea tray floating in from the kitchen startled a giggle from her. Severus set his wand back on his bedside table, and helped his Gryffindor rearrange her limbs, to sit upright beside him against the headboard, and take the teacup without spilling. His fingers tangled in her too long hair, Hermione always thought to get it trimmed but never managed to make an appointment. She paused mid-sip at his next words.

"Dear heart. Would you be opposed to making this arrangement more permanent?" Hermione carefully replayed the words and translated from Snape-speak to English.

"Well, I'm not opposed to it, I'd like to think about it. Maybe when I'm not addled by endorphin overload?" She closely studied his face and only found relief and a small smile. "Will you give me a week?" Snape answered with a soft kiss. Then poured himself another cup and bit into a digestive biscuit.

He was still inside her on the next Thursday evening. Sitting leaned back against the headboard. Hermione still panting against his shoulder and hair in a knotted afro. Their bodies slowly cooling while she half-listened to his murmurs into her hair. It took a few moments for her to process his murmurs.

"...We suit in interests and skills complement the other. Obviously, we're sexually compatible and agree on offspring and money management. I wouldn't insist on any name change." Hermione slowly lifted her head, realizing what he was talking about. "And it would be most beneficial on taxes." He shifted his legs and caused Hermione to moan with the movement of his half-hard cock still inside her. Hermione smoothed back her hair, and lifted off his lap. His dick twitched at the loss of heat.

"I can't have this conversation with you inside me, it's too distracting." Hermione rolled onto her back and looked up at the slightly anxious face of one Severus Snape. She realized he was indeed very serious. She smiled. "If you haven't picked out a ring yet, I would like to choose it myself. After all, I hope to wear it for the rest of my years." She kissed him when he bent over her with a look of relief. She spoke against his lips. "Yes darling, I'll marry you. For the taxes, you know."

 

 

Hermione and Snape were quietly married by Minister Longbottom, witnessed by Blaise and a pregnant Luna. Harry staunchly ignored the guffaws from Theo, carrying Hermione's kneazle and giving his shoulder as a perch to her tiny owl, Ginny pinching the slytherin's arm firmly. Jonas Grimp watched the ceremony with the rest of the Council, fingering the velvet box in his pocket, and sacrificing his handkerchief to Hagrid's happy tears. Neefa's ears quivered in approval when the magic of their vows enveloped the bride and groom. Ambrosius quietly placed bets in the corner with his wife Cariana, on the timing of the first dark, curly haired child with expressive eyebrows. The brewing team slipping Hannah Pepper-Up potions to keep her from nodding off while the rings were exchanged from a rough midnight shift. The young medi-witch sighed in relief when Luna took the obligatory picture, and excused herself from the brunch for bed. The next day Ginny buried the small-print, all text wedding announcement deep in the Quibbler ads and classifieds.

No one outside of Hogsland found out about their marriage till 2 years later, when Blaise Zabini threw the largest wedding the considerable fortunes of Zabini and Nott could manage without looking ridiculous. It was a public statement to the rest of the Wizarding World, same-sex relations were allowed and supported in Hogsland. Also, Blaise's mother was finally convinced this was the only way she would have a wedding for her son, and Theo wanted to send a giant 'fuck you' to his Azkaban imprisoned father. An entirely separate edition of the Quibbler detailed the entire event down to the bridal party of maids and grooms where Hermione wickedly allowed her married name be used, as her baby bump was just starting to show.

 

 

"Well, my dear. As sad as I am to see you leave, I'm curious, what will you do?" Hermione watched Cariana bounce her squealing child. "Will you finally step into the spotlight? Take credit for your work?" The brunette smiled and set her teacup into its saucer with a soft click.

"Severus and I will be accompanying Neville on his tour. Unofficially. Coinciding our visits with potions contacts. There has been a spate of recent major world disasters, and more than a few communities still suffering from the aftermath of older incidents. The Minister won't be able to suss out the full story from the propaganda by himself."

"Ah, so no spotlight. But is it wise to bring a child with you?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"What better way for a child to learn what 'making an impact' actually means? Severus and I have always found it more effective working behind-the-scenes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have very much enjoyed sharing this story with all of you! I am fleshing out a few more story plots, so I hope you will enjoy my next posts. Thank so much for reading!
> 
> I was already working on completely separate storylines until I got a review and started thinking I would have enough material for a sequel. For now, I will post the following facts I couldn't fit in:
> 
> \- Yes, Bill and Fleur move to Hogsland, Fleur actually ends up being the book keeper for the pre-Hogwarts day camp and Hogwarts.
> 
> \- Ron helps his mum normalize and winds up being the go-to guy for Auror/Social Services relations and falls in love with an apprentice baker, all the kids love him because he always has a cupcake in his pocket.
> 
> \- Luna and Jonas have a traditional handfasting naked under a full moon, and she sets records having two sets of identical triplets. Jonas is deliriously happy with his litter of children but has to give up ever surprising any of them as they are all have eery Seer traits. Instead, he trains them for the gambling circuit. Aberforth babysits often.
> 
> \- Kingsley and MoM never reach a feeling of routine with Hogsland, because Hogsland government just enjoys breaking with tradition and Theo loves seeing Kingsley flustered. Blaise regularly laughs in the face of MoM toadies saying 'It just isn't done!'
> 
> \- Minerva and Flitwick realize the need to hire secretaries. They hire goblins to scare off the faint-hearted and cut down on frivolous requests. Flitwick slowly moves into research and Minerva takes on an apprentice so she can travel and speak at conferences. Her apprentice will then publish a memoir of her mentor's life with the draft title 'Shit McGonagall Dealt With'.


End file.
